


Team Horsetress

by Lightspeed



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Anal Sex, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Bars and Pubs, Biting, Centaur AU, Centaurs, Decapitation, Dress Up, Drinking, Gun Violence, Horse Jokes, M/M, Makeover, Oral Sex, Pyro Being Freakin' Adorable, Romance, Shovel Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 20:09:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1400881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short series of funny, violent, and pervy vignettes set in an AU where everyone in the TF2 universe are centaurs.</p><p>(Any depictions of gore or violence are kept in a combat context, and are not part of the sexual content of this fic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All The Rage Part 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [themerrywolf](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=themerrywolf).



Salon Hippocampus.

Pyro looked up at the garish sign depicting a strange blend of centaur and mermaid, resplendent in the ocean's spray as she reclined upon a rock amidst the waves, hair long and flowing, coat shining, tail perfectly groomed. The lettering that swept in arcs above and below the image, rimmed in neon lights, read the strange, silly name.

Tapping at the sidewalk with a hoof, Pyro regarded the place with a nervous eye. Not only did the place have a palpable air of pretense, perceptible even through the warm, bubbly haze of Pyrovision, but they weren't entirely sure if the faux-classy establishment would be willing to do what they wanted.

Looking back at their fur, at the strong, equine body that stretched out behind them, caked so thoroughly in soot that their original colouration was lost, their tail lashing about in their discomfort, braided loosely and tied with a tattered, singed ribbon, they let out a long, heavy sigh through the filters of their mask. They wanted to be pretty. To be like those pretty show horses they always saw in all of the magazines and on the television, beautiful women and men with shiny coats and perfect hair and hooves buffed and enameled to a high gloss. They'd never be like the centaurs walking down red carpets, but at least, Pyro thought, they could turn a few heads and bring a few smiles as they trotted through town on the way to the ice cream shop.

Thus resolved, Pyro pushed open the door to the salon, peeking into the brightly-lit establishment. Middle-aged women laid dispassionately as their hooves were polished, others having their hair and tails trimmed and styled. Further off, a younger girl was having her coat dyed. Pretty centaurs, men and women, worked on their customers, smiling and exchanging pleasantries as they worked their cosmetic magic. When the bell atop the door rang, all eyes fell to the gasmask-wearing centaur with the dirty fur and rubber shirt and gloves. Pyro froze a moment, before cautiously entering, clutching a small purse with flowers on it.

An older woman, her hair flatteringly curling about her face in a dignified mixture of silver and tawny brown as a lovely counterpoint to her immaculate, white coat, approached Pyro, hooves enameled the colour of dried blood clicking gently upon the floor. "Can I help you... er, Miss?" she ventured, taking an assumption from the purse and not being so rude as to look to her new customer's undercarriage for answers.

"Pyro," the firebug announced through filters, trying to speak clearly. "I'm Pyro."

"Oh, well, Pyro, what can I do for you today?" the woman asked, smiling broadly to the timid mercenary. This would be an interesting job, for sure.


	2. Triple Entendre

"Hey little filly, I bet you never seen a guy so handsome before, right? It's okay to stare, I understand."

 

"Wanna see me with my shirt off?"

 

"Yo, beautiful, where you gallopin' off to in such a hurry? I'm right here!"

 

Scout slumped against the bar, sullen, nursing his beer. It was like all of the girls in the tavern were blind, or at least had no taste. Not a damn one of them was giving him the time of day. Hell, none of them would even look at him, unless they had to. "Man, this place sucks. I'd be more likely to get some tail hangin' round Heavy an' Medic's quarters," he grumbled, taking a swig from the bottle in his hand.

Demoman chuckled, slapping Scout lightly on his flank and scanning the room. "It's 'cause ye dunnae how tae talk tae the lasses, lad. Ye can't just bark at 'em and expect 'em tae herd, aye? They're nae sheep."

"Oh yeah? What do you know, ya damn Shetland pony?" Scout snipped, shooting a smirk at his friend.

"I know more'n ye, ye wee colt. Now listen up, and maybe ye might learn a thing. Ye just have tae play it easy. Relax, and let them come tae ye. Look for a lass that might be interested, eyein' up the merchandise, aye? Invite 'er over with a smile, an' let her come tae ye. Don't just chase anythin' walks past ye."

"But they never look at me to start," Scout countered.

"Nae true. I see a lass over there, fine filly, great rack, pretty as the day is long. She's had 'er eye on ye since ye stopped shoutin' so much, and I think she likes what she sees, lad."

"How can you be so sure?"

"She's winkin' at ye, boyo," Demoman growled, leaning in conspiratorially, his voice low and lurid.

Scout's eyes went wide. She was _WHAT? In public?_ He wheeled around, nearly knocking aside his teammate as he did, following his line of sight.

In the corner, beside the juke box, a pretty young thing with blonde hair in her face looked away upon seeing Scout's attention had been drawn to her. She slowly looked back to him and gave him a nervous smile, trying to brush her hair in front of the eyepatch she wore.

Winking.

Oh.

Scout returned the smile, then turned to Demoman with a scowl. "Yo you are fucked up, man."

"What? I figured a little one-eyed humour was appropriate," Demoman explained, a sheepish grin trying to sneak across his face, guilt making laughter bubble up out of him.

"Shit man, I thought I might have a chance with a real freaky chick," Scout muttered, drawing himself up. "Well, she's pretty."

"Aye, now good luck, lad. Don't screw it up."

"Me? Screw it up? Look who you're talkin' to, man!"

 


	3. Sound The Alarm

"Bap!" Engineer mumbled to himself with a smirk, slapping steel to steel as he worked to upgrade his dispenser. Rebuilding a nest was always tedious business, time spent away from the front lines to be wasted trying to get back up to steam. It wouldn't be long, now, however, as the dispenser began to whirr and the expansion slots slid open and new machinery slid into place, upgrading to level three.

Wiping his nose on a bandana, Engineer admired his handiwork. With the dispenser running at full capacity it would be no problem getting the sentry leveled the rest of the way up. He cast an eye to the oscillating machine, sitting at level one and beeping dutifully as it scanned its surroundings for traces of blue. He gathered some scrap metal from the dispenser's tray, ready to--

Smoke.

Engineer sniffed again. Cigarette smoke was on the air. His tail, long and tipped with a tuft of blond, lashed in the air at the scent. There was a Spy creeping around, no doubt. Only, where?

He took a deep breath, trying to scan for a source of the smell without alerting Spy to his awareness. He set down the scrap metal and stood, stretching his shoulders as he continued to search. Left. The breeze had shifted and given Spy away, and he was close. The small hairs on the back of the Texan mule's neck began to stand, joined soon by those on his forearms. He could feel himself growing warmer, heat approaching with silent speed. He was nearly on top of him. A small smirk began to tug at his lips.

Spy's own grin split his face wide, his knife slowly unfolding in his hand. Shoe-muffled hooves crept slowly along the desert floor, so close he could smell Engineer's sweat, and the grease on his hands. His method of homicide was always so wonderfully intimate, something probably lost on those his knife penetrated. He reared back to stab.

Engineer let out a loud bray and ducked away, putting a few feet of distance between them as Spy shimmered into sight, his cloak dismissed by his failed attack. He yelped in surprise at the horrible sound issuing from the mechanic's throat, and stumbled back. Engineer brayed again, and again, reeling around to face away from his shocked attacker, and reared forward onto his front hooves.

 

Soldier looked up from the corpse of the BLU Scout. His shotgun was out of ammunition, but the jumpy foal on the ground was also out of blood. An even trade if there ever was one.

Braying in the distance rang out clear as a bell yet far more unpleasant. It was unmistakable, and impossible to miss. In the back of his mind, Soldier pat himself on the back for thinking up the new Spy alarm for their resident builder to sound.

Dropping his shotgun, Soldier tugged his entrenching tool free of its sheath on his back, flicking it out and open. With a whinny and a scream, Soldier galloped after the bray, the sound of his hoofbeats like war drums on the dry dirt.

 

Engineer kicked Spy hard in the side with both rear hooves, a scream and cracking sounds rewarding him as ribs shattered beneath his feet. Spy was forced sideways, his legs almost falling out from under him as he fought to regain his footing, hooves scrambling in the dust. He coughed up blood, searing heat and pain throbbing through him even as his lower lungs grew tight and soggy.

With a scream, Soldier ended it, skidding to a halt alongside Spy, his shovel embedded in the rogue's neck, decapitating him with a single strike. His head held onto his neck by a few ragged strands of muscle, the entrenching tool sitting between two vertebrae and severing his spine handily. With a wet gurgle, Spy's legs gave out beneath him, and he slumped to the ground, dead.

"Thank ya kindly, partner." Engineer tipped his hardhat to the taller centaur with a friendly smile.

"Just doing my job, Engie," Solder demurred with a grin, wrenching his shovel from the BLU's corpse. "Your braying worked like a charm."

"Glad to see that god-awful racket has some good use," Engineer chuckled.

A blue dot appeared on Soldier's face, hovering just below the rim of his helmet. Engineer's eyes went wide, but as his mouth dropped open to warn him, a crack met his ears, and Soldier fell, dead, a spray of blood and gray matter spilling out onto the dry dust behind him. Wheeling around, Engineer looked in the direction of the shot, only to catch the second, himself, ripping through his throat with gory inefficiency.

"You prancin' show ponies," the BLU Sniper growled, tugging back the bolt handle on his rifle and loading in a fresh cartridge.


	4. Insert A Joke About Horse Dick Here

Medic nickered softly, his head bowed, arms grasping at his desk to help steady himself, every muscle quaking and feeling ready to give out. A hot, throbbing trail ran along his neck and spine as teeth bit and nipped along it, interspersed with impossibly soft, gentle kisses. Broad hands gripped his upper hips, where fur gave way to the smoother flesh of his upper body, rubbing lovingly along his sides as he shook and began to sweat.

Heavy was a large man, in many ways. Enormous hands ended broad, strong, muscular arms to match his broad, strong upper torso, with its soft gut to insulate it. His legs were thick, his lower body was nearly entirely muscle, the weighty lines of a draft horse clad in blotchy grey and black fur. Nowhere did the word large qualify more, however, than the part of him that was currently invading Medic's ass with slow, hard thrusts. He withdrew very little, instead punishing Medic by resting deep inside him and driving just a little deeper before pulling back each time. His weight pressed down on the doctor's slim, Lipizzaner body, making his white legs shake with each invasion.

He tried to make it tender with kisses and nibbles, by running his hands all over the smaller man and murmuring in his heavily-accented voice, rumbling like an avalanche and humming through Medic's chests, speaking words of love and worship. Between snorts and groans, nickers and gasps, he would tell the doctor how beautiful he was, how masculine, how perfect and immaculate and seraphic he found the centaur he was currently mounting.

It was how it always was, though. Heavy was large, but Medic loved it that way. After the giant would finish, he would lie down beneath him and ensure his doktor would be rewarded for his stamina, for supporting their weight for both of their pleasure. And when they were finished, Medic would join him, curled together and laying their upper bodies across one-another's backs as they drifted off to sleep.


	5. All The Rage Part 2

Pyro emptied their purse onto the counter top of the salon, grinning broadly beneath their mask. It was perfect. They were perfect. Everything was perfect and nothing was bad, or ever would be again. Several banded stacks of hundred dollar bills flopped out onto the counter, much to the wide eyes of the salon attendant standing behind it.

She looked down, "Um, I don't know if I have change for all of this, um, Pyro," she stammered.

Pyro waved a hand dismissively and offered two excited thumbs up before slinging their purse over their shoulder and trotting out the door, leaving at least six thousand dollars sitting before the confused cosmetologist.

The bell on the door rang as Pyro opened it and stepped out into the open sun, taking a deep, wheezy breath through their filters like it was the first they'd ever taken, born again after exiting the womb of Salon Hippocampus. Trotting out, they stopped to admire their reflection in the window.

Their fur, once black with soot and char, had been bleached out, and now, it was combed and glossy, a bright shade of cotton-candy pink. Their tail lashed about with joy, its tips curled outward, brushed to smoothness and snowy white, with a powder-blue bow tied at its base. Their hooves were buffed and enameled, white and shining in the bright sun as they stomped about with excitement at the view. A small, decorative blue saddle sat on their back, matching the frilled, bow-laden long-sleeved shirt they now wore. Fastened to their mask, a long, white horn with pink stripes stood proudly from their forehead. It was sharp at the tip, and was a tightly curved shell-shape, looking like someone had stretched a nautilus out by pressing at the center of its curl. It was a bit less soft and fluffy than they'd hoped, but ever makeover has one imperfection or another, they reasoned, admiring the white blush marks painted on the cheeks of their black mask.

They looked the vision of beauty and happiness, and with glee, Pyro began the trot home, whistling merrily beneath their mask. Just wait until the RED team's Pyro got to see them! Maybe they should invite them along next time they went for a makeover, and go get cake afterward! It would be perfect!


End file.
